Does the silent birthing Ganga
gurgle
out of granite rocks
.. before she, baby,
babbles
as a bubbling brook?
Or was she born
a cataract roaring
onto Shiva's brow
her power pouring?
As she deepens her
waters, she speaks
less..
trailing more and more
streamer streams behind
her long robe..
washing away the sins
of the world..
yet remaining Himalayan
snows pure
I like the way the words you used not only added to the description of the river but also added to the flow and rhythm of the poem as a whole. A very nice job. ~Jan